Time's Mistress
by Unholy Spectacle
Summary: Everyone knows Time-Turners can only travel a few hours. Right? Wrong. His Voldy-ness is back, and he's after the DoM's newest secret weapon—and its impure inventor. For Hermione Granger, life after war just became a lot more dangerous. AU-ish, EWE, HG/SS.
1. A Breakup and a Laboratory

A/N at end.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the world, the characters, or even the Time-Turner idea. J.K. R,owling does. Also, I'm not making money from this in any way. Ameteur tribute, for fun, etc.

Chapter One

He was over a half hour late. Hermione cast a discreet _Tempus_, looked at her Muggle watch to confirm the results, and blew out a resigned breath. That cinched it, right there, she thought. She'd made a deal with herself when she'd floo called Ron yesterday: if he was late just _one more time_. . . it was arbitrary, an imaginary line in the sand she'd never thought he would cross.

Hermione was at a muggle restaurant, and she'd chosen the sort of place that she had imagined Ron would feel comfortable, instead of the kind she would have actually wanted to meet. It was typical, really, she reflected: As usual, she made too many accommodations, bent over backward, and he acted as if he had no idea. She looked at her watch again. Now he was forty minutes late. It was time to go.

She stood, gathering her expensive leather handbag, handbag, a deceptively small affair that served to replace her late great (and as it turned out, not machine washable) beaded bag. Of course just then—_it never bloody fails, _she thought-Ron breezed in, all red hair, long lean limbs, and falsely apologetic smile. He kissed her on the cheek, not making eye contact. "Whew, thought I would never get here," he said.

"That makes two of us," Hermione said, sitting back down.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, a little uncomfortable. "Yeah, sorry about that, love. I just got caught up. You know how it is." He smiled again, a trifle forced, and looked around. "Or you used to, before you quit the Aurory."

_I didn't quit, and you know it. I was twice the Auror you ever were. And some of us didn't need to rely on being passed through after quitting training and regretting our decision at the last possible moment. Not even Harry pulled that one._

But of course, she didn't say this, simply watched as Ron, feeling he had made his point, continued.** "**You picked a good one, this time. Not at all like that overly posh affair last week."

Hermione looked at him, looked around at the shabby surroundings. At the holes in the upholstery and the onviously dingy curtains. She thought of telling him that she had _liked _that place last week, a coffee bar-slash-rare and used bookshop. It hadn't been posh at all. She thought of telling him that she hated this place, and had chosen it just for him, and he had almost stood her up—again. Considered telling him that he would have never passed his O.W.L.s, much less get any further, without having shamelessly used her as a human reference manual-slash-house elf. She thought of pointing out that, in their years of off-and-on dating, he'd only shown up on time twice, and both of those times had been when they'd left together. She debated telling him that he was crap in bed, in a great deal of seriously emasculating detail.

She considered punching him in the face. Hard.

"Hermione?" Ron snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Mione? Are you all right?"

Hermione forced down her anger and drew back, still thinking. If she said what she wanted, they would argue. They always fought. It wouldn't work; it never did. He never got the point, never would. He would never see her the way she longed for, would never respect her the way she desired, never ever show her the consideration she so craved. The shouting would lead to tears, which would lead to pain, which would lead to him—or her—storming out, which would lead to her taking him back two days later. It was time, she knew. Past time to break the cycle.

With a shaking hand, Hermione took a deep gulp of her white wine spritzer. "I am glad you're here, Ron," she said.

At that, her companion's smile relaxed. He ran a hand through his shaggy red hair in obvious relief. "Are you? That's good. I figured we would get into a fight, what with me being so late and all. You know it goes, you take me to task because you can make it on time and you're a bloody Unspeakable, so why can't I manage to show up when we agree ever and how I don't appreciate you." He chuckled dismissively, and Hermione's stomach curled with the new, final knowledge that, in fact, he really did not appreciate her. Or love her, even.

"Anyway, you know how we are." He laughed again, this time nervously again. Something in her face must have given her away, she realized.

"Yes," Hermione said hollowly. "I know how we are." She took another sip of her wine, and continued. "And that's why I am glad you showed. Because you see, I'm breaking up with you."

HGHGHG

The Department of Mysteries was quiet in the middle of the night, and that was as it should be, Hermione supposed. Even the Unspeakables had homes, lives, and families.

Most of them did, that was. Hermione walked into her office, the main chamber set in an alcove connected to the Time Room, and sat down. She'd thought of going home after talking to Ron, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Starting tonight, she would be getting floo calls, drop-in visits, and well-meaning owls from the Potter / Weasley family, all of whom would consider her breaking up with Ron simply the latest move in whatever dysfunctional chess match he and she were playing. Had been playing, truth be told, since the end of the war.

It had been ten years, she reflected. Ten wasted years waiting on him, hoping against hope that after he tried to find himself with different women, he would finally got around to her … that they would settle down. That she would make him happy. Well, it was clear he wasn't happy. He'd never wanted her, not really. She had always been the safety option. Too smart, too ambitious, too insecure when it came to him.

She flipped idly through her paperwork—mainly requests for short-term Time-Turners for various projects, some for students with transcripts attached, only a few genuinely interesting items—and sighed. It was strange. She had expected to feel sad when the break finally happened. But what she mainly felt was relief.

Hermione shook off her melancholy thoughts and buried herself in her work, walking through her door briskly to what she thought of as 'her' domain, her headquarters within the Department of Mysteries, the Time Room.

Not bothering to close the office door behind her at this late hour, Hermione took a moment to look around. The sight filled her with satisfaction, as it always did. Even now in the middle of the night, it was filled with a sparkling, golden light that never failed to cheer her up. Clkocks covered every surface, of course, on the walls, on the numberous bookcases that contained copies of all the known times on the subject of time, on desks strewn through the large, noisy chamber. And, of course, in one section there stood the passageway through which she and her friends had followed Harry into the Hall of Prophesy.

Looking around, she couldn't help but feel proud. All of it was because of her, really. When she had taken over, the room had been nearly bare, the clocks still. She had taken a bare, dismantled project and made it her own. Made it ever so much better, in fact.

To one side of the room were the experiments in time: The bell jar with the perpetual cycle of a hummingbird hatching out of an egg, growing, maturing, becoming younger, then hatching again. The reverse cycle: A small cat, appearing from nothing, thin and frail, slowing becoming fatter and healthier, its coat growing glossier, then steadily shrinking into a kitten, slicked with afterbirth, and finally disappearing again. Finally, in her opinion, the creepiest and the most fascinating experiment, the house elf that flickered continuously from child elf to ancient elf with no inbetween. That one, she had fought against, but it—she thought it was a 'he' but wasn't sure—had been a bequest to the Department from one of its employees, and according to Wizarding law, could not be changed, as elves were still considered property.

Hermione sighed and looked resolutely at the other side of the room. The Time-Turners. What had been destroyed, had been repaired, at great time and expense to the Ministry. The glass cases welcomed her. Gold, for those which could only go back a day. Silver, those that could go back a week, issued only to selected Unspeakables on missions deemed critical to security, and needing to be signed out by the Minister, and, finally, her very own invention. which no one was nor ever would be allowed: The emerald. There was only one of those, and it stood on a pedestal in the center of the room. It could go back years. It was easily the most dangerous otem in the entire building, capable of so much destruction that it pained her to consider it.

Hermione gazed at it, as she always did. The formula had come to her one day, like a bolt of lightening, and she could never say from where it had come. It simply had, and, although she had known better, like Oppenheimer she had been helpless to resist.

It gleamed at her as she regarded it, a dull green the color of an Avada, and she shuddered. It had been her, so familiar with a Time-Turner herself, that discovered that emerald combined with diamond, combined with a potion-infused silver alloy for the clockwork gears, had the properties needed, when used in a specific ritual manner, to go back so far into time. She who had presented her findings to a panel of had Unspeakables in an effort to get a spot in the prestigious Department of Mysteries.

Hermione snorted softly to herself, there alone in the Time Room, with the silently screaning elf and the ticking of the clocks and her oh-so-proud invention. What hubris she had back then.

No, being a simple, everyday Auror hadn't been enough for Hermione Granger. Having finished the training program at the top of her class (just below Harry, it had to be admitted, although unlike Ron, she'd at least completed the full course before declaring she was "too young" to be so tied down), she had ached for a challenge above and beyond what she had seen in her future. Something special. She had decided to try for the Unspeakables.

How she had shocked them all in that meeting; it went precisely as she had hoped, at first. Seeing their faces go blank, seeing that look in their eyes. Until the looks had turned calculating. How naïve she'd been. Yes, they had agreed to make her an Unspeakable, of course they had. Accepted her to the point that she hadn't been allowed to leave the building before they secured an Unbreakable Vow between her and the Head. Presto-chango, Hermione Granger, newly minted Auror, because Hermione Granger, Unspeakable, Time Mistress, a victim of her own success.

The Misress of the Time Room sighed and looked around her domain again. _The joke's on you, Hermione,_she thought.

There were worse places to be stuck, she supposed. Worse subjects on which to experiment. And that was fine, because she knew, she might as well be happy. Barring being moved up to lead Unspeakable, she would be stuck in the Time Room for the rest of her life.

HGHGHG

A/N: This will be a HG / SS romance, of the pricky sort, and yes, it is a time travel story. Please let me know if you're reading it and think I should continue, despite the time-travel-ish nature of it. :)


	2. A Duel and a Conversation

A/N at end.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not making money from this.

##

"_Sectumsempra._**"**

"_Inflamus sanguinem_!" An orange light flashed, and the acrid smell of a missed curse sizzled in theclose air of the dueling hall. Outside, a small crowd had gathered to watch the wizard and witch sparring through the large, warded viewing window. Although the chamber was silenced, the light show had been going for thirty minutes. Now, it was clear the duelers were slowing and an end was near.

"_Protego_._Expelliarmus_!"

Hermione dodged again. The muscles of her thighs and forearms were both burning, and her knees had started to tremble with the effort to keep her erect. Sweat plastered her hair to the skin of her forehead and was now running down into her eyes, impairing her vision. Harry was sweating, too, at least, although he didn't look nearly as destroyed as she did. Damn him. He would likely win this match; he generally did, although she liked to think she kept it interesting for him.

An electric blue light scortched the shoulder of her robe, and Hermione winced. Chastising herself for wandering thoughts, she dodged yet another curse and blinked against the moisture in her eyes, huffing as she cast a non-verbal leg-locking jinx followed closely by a wordless wall of air designed to topple. She moved again, knowing she couldn't afford the moment to cast a hair-drying charm. She should have worried less about looking silly and worn a Muggle headband. Their matches always took forever; Harry was her toughest opponent. He always had been. He'd been the only other trainee at the Auror academy she couldn't trounce, and that included Ron (much to his dismay). Hermione tried to make up for Harry's sheer raw power with her creativity, and the resulting combination was why they had an audience.

Still, you had to hand it to him. Harry might use the same damn curses and blocks over and over again, but they worked. Summoning her last reserves of strength, Hermione sent her male friend a devilish, cocky grin. "_Siccavit Testiculis_!"

He jerked out of the way, but barely, and gave her a dirty look. "_Stupi_fy."

"Fuck." Hermione stumbled. That one had almost gotten her. Not letting the opportunity pass, Harry shoved her shoulder with one hand, overbalancing her while simultaneously sweeping her legs. Hermione rolled, once again narrowly missing a hit as his fist connected to the ground instead of her side.

"_Incarcerous_." She wheezed, gratified when ropes wrapped around Harry, who used a non-verbal charm to turn them into ash and lifted his hand to call a time out.

"I've had it," he admitted. At least he was breathing heavily. "You?"

"Definitely," she said, still gasping for air. "Good session."

Harry nodded his agreement and sagged beside her, his wand held loosely in his hand. Their backs were to the now-dispercing crowd of people. With him sitting so close to her, Hermione could smell his sweat and see that he, too, looked exhausted. "You're getting better with the physical attacks," he said. "That was your weak point in training." He smirked slightly.

"Well, not all of us were coming off a year in Thailand."

Harry snorted. "Yes, so I've been told. Repeatedly. As if beaches, drinking too much, and girls in bikinis somehow prepared me for Auror training better than another year at Hogwarts."

Hermione held her side, which had cramped, and slid to her back on the parquet wood floor of the chamber. Now that the dueling was over, the lights had brightened and the ceiling was reflecting the sky outside, where it was evidently overcast. As usual. She took a deep breath, enjoying the recovery and endorphin rush she always felt after a hard workout.

Harry laid down beside her. "By the way, that spell on my bits, seriously not okay."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"They're intact, so it was." Harry sighed as two towels popped into existence next to them. He took of his glasses and towelled off his face. "I was serious about the improvement. Any new training you can't speak of?"

"Ha ha," Hermione said. "Really, I never get enough of those Department of Mysteries jokes. And to answer your question, no, the most action I ever see is the lab." Absently she rubbed her right wrist and grimaced as her wrist scars heated in warning. The thin lines from the Unbreakable Vow she had taken looped like dual ropes down and around her wrist in two facing semi-circles. Inside theopening of the loop rested the magical tattoo of a Time Mistress, the symbol of her office and the key for accessing the most secret experiments and objects. Including her own.

Harry's eyes followed the action. His eyes were troubled. "Does it hurt?"

"Not as long as I keep my mouth shut." She sighed. The list of things about which she could not speak was large, overly so in her opinion, but at the time they'd made the Vow, they'd been understandably startled. It was her own fault, really.

Of all the things she could have done to demonstrate her new "invention," she just had to go back in time and being back a lock of the Minister's baby hair.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Harry continued speaking. "It's obvious where you work from the tattoo they gave you," he said, nodding down at the small hourglass image on her wrist. Inside the black hourglass, silver and gold sand continually flowed down the hourglass, up, and then down again. "Not exactly subtle, are they? Arthur said they've given every Time Master since the Room was created the same thing." He grimaced, realizing his mistake in mentioning Ron's father too late.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said. "I broke up with Ron, not Arthur." She didn't comment on his observation, although her fingers had moved down to absently trace the tattoo. She didn't tell him what it was for, didn't agree with his acerbic comment. If she did, her scars would start to burn.

_Over-controlling bastards_, she thought, watching as Harry stood and offered her his hand. She took it, wincing slightly as her thigh muscles complained.

"Same place as usual?"

"Sure," Hermione agreed.

Later, at the Muggle Indian restaurant they normally frequented, safely ensconced in a table at the rear of the restaurant with their backs to the wall, thire conversation continued as if it had never been dropped.

"For what it's worth, Arthur was very impressed," Harry said, a piece of nan in his hand. "He would have told you himself, but he knew you wouldn't be able to talk about it."

Hermione gazed in the direction of the window nearest her, which showed only grey and fog, and just nodded. Despite her determination not to rely on the Weasleys any longer for support and approval, she could feel herself warm at the praise.

"Leaving them is the hardest part of ending things with Ron," she admitted.

Harry looked out the window, not making eye contact. "You miss your parents?"

"Sometimes. Like now, it would be easier."

Harry just nodded. "I know what you mean."

Neither of them said anything more. The healers had told Hermione that, if she attempted reversal of her memory charm, they would have a fifty percent chance of severe brain damage, and she couldn't put them through that, not now that they had what seemed like perfectly contented lives without her. They might gave wanted her to, but she wasn't willing to risk them ending up sharing ward space with Neville's parents.

_As usual, I'm a victim of my own success_, Hermione thought. Inside her own head, she allowed herself to sound bitter. Sometimes she had the purely selfish urge to do it anyway, revease the charm despite all the years that had passed and let the odds be damned.

"I've been taking Muggle martial arts classes," she said weakly, cutting off her thoughts and changing the subject. "Next time, you're going down, Potter. Just so you know."

Harry went along with the change in topic, and for a while they talked about her progress with Krav Maga and Aikido—which it turned out Harry had taken as well—like the two old friends they were. Finally, and inevitably, the conversation turned back to Ron.

"How are you holding up?" Harry asked. "Should I hope?"

"Hope for us to be done, or not done?" Hermione asked. Her smile was forced. "It's done."

Harry let out a breath. "I had a feeling," he said."Was it anything in particular?"

"A lot of the same things. I just got tired, Harry. I am tired. He'll never change," she said. "And I suppose he shouldn't have to. But I shouldn't, either."

Harry nodded. "I wondered if this wasn't coming," he said.

Hermione played with the handle of her tea mug. "You and everyone else," she said."_The Daily Prophet_, and most of Muggle London, from the volume of the fight we had. Our waitress here probably heard it."

"I don't think Ron knows it's over, though,"Harry said. "He's acting as usual."

Hermione shrugged. She'd taken Ron back so many times that there was really nothing she could say that would speak louder than the passing of time. "I'm not surprised," she said. "He keeps owling."

"Soon he'll start showing up," Harry observed."Like last time."

"Like every time." Hermioneagreed."Once he finally notices I'm not answering the owls." She felt adull pain in her chest. She'd had the dream of being part of the Weasley family for so long. Of being connected to Harry by law, officially being his sister. She'd planned her wedding in her head since they'd started dating, even know what type of ceremony, what robes she would wear. Resolutely, she ignored her feelings. "I actually wanted to ask a favor,"she said.

"You want to borrow the cloak?"

Hermione sagged, relieved. "Is it okay? Security at work is obviously great, but—"

Harry smiled at her in that squinty way he had that made her always want to take him to an optometrist to check his prescription. "Yes, you can borrow it," he said. "Of course. I never use it now, anyway. If we need invisibility for work we nearly always get the potion. So it's fine. Consider it a long-term loan." He looked away, his expression blank. "It would actually make me feel better, knowing you had it."

"Thank you, Harry. I'm afraid Molly's come visiting already, to tell me how she understands and how she's sure it will all work out, of course."

"Of course."

"Meaning Weasley babies with red curly hair in Molly-speak, and she's not the only one."

Harry cocked his head, obviously thinking. "Who else?"

"Percy, for starters."

"No. Percy? That's odd."

"Oh, yes. And odd does not begin to describe it. He wanted to remind me of how advantageous linking myself to his family would be. On account of my being a Muggle-born, as if I couldn't figure that out."

Harry shook his head. "He never changes, does he?"

"It gets better. Of course, mind you, all of this is in hushed tones in the hallway, very secretive with glances over his shoulder, because he wouldn't want anyone to hear him say the "M" word."

"I thought Muggle-born was the acceptable term."

"No, matrimony," Hermione said. "Because, you see,if it doesn't work out with Ron . . . "

"Merlin's hairy testicles. He didn't."

"He did. But to his credit, or detriment, I'm honestly not sure which, it wasn't an official proposal. More of a request for a meeting, in the event of."

Harry made a choking sound."He's with Penny, isn't he?"

"Was, it seems, and after this I can't blame her. Additionally. On the opposite end of the Weasley spectrum, George sent me some of those terrible daydream charms that really should not be sold to children, the boxes that have the pirate on the cover, you know which ones I mean—"

Now Harry was laughing outright. Seeing him, Hermione belatedly realized how worried and worn he'd been looking. Why hadn't she noticed? She should have.

Harry was still laughing. "He did not. He did."

Through the force of long experience, Hermione continued her story, keeping her tone light. "Oh yes. With a note, 'On behalf of a different Weasley brother, here's something to tide you over."

"You're kidding. No, you have to be."

"Dead serious. I don't even want to know what he was thinking."

Harry wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Hermione gave him a dirty look and continued, "I mean, honestly, I'm a grown woman, as if I don't have means of taking care of—"

"Sweet Circe," Harry said, clapping his hands over his ears. "No, that's it, stop right there."

Hermione smirked triumphantly. "You deserved it for laughing." She snorted. "Anyway, I just really can't take any more Weasleys for now. No offense to Ginny, of course."

Harry shook his head, still amused. "Don't worry about it. She says the same thing to me all the time."

Their food came, and a silence descended while they ate their food. About half-way through hers, Hermione noticed that Harry wasn't eating, but just picking at his food. She put her fork down, and Harry met her eyes. Once he did, his expression turned serious, and Hermione's heart sank. So she hadn't been imagining it.

"Listen, Hermione,do you still keep those frankly terrifying wards on your home?"

Hermione frowned at him Something in his tone seemed off. "Are you asking as my friend or as head of the Aurory?"

"For now, as a friend."

Hermione stared at him, not reassured. "Has something happened?"

Harry ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, and grimaced. "Just, please, Hermione, humor me."

"They're original to me, Harry," she said, reluctantly answering. "I took the idea of them from an ancient book I got as a present from Bill. The Egyptians used a completely different warding system and philosophy than we do." She forced herself to pause, knowing Harry wouldn't want the details. And she had questions of her own. "Again, Harry, why?"

"And your flat is still unplottable?"He persisted.

Hermione sighed. "Yes. I couldn't put it under Fidelus because it's in a Muggle building and somehow it caused problems with their electrical grid; I still haven't figured out why."

Harry nodded. "And yourself? Did you take my advice?"

Hermione huffed. "Honestly, if you won't tell me what this is about—"

"_Please_, Hermione."

Hermione was starntled into silence. She hadn't heard that tone of voice from Harry in a long time. She'd hoped to never hear it again. "Yes," she said quietly. "I used the same charm you did, when you took your new post at MLE. Although I still maintain the one I found was better, and you should have used that one too." Seeing him open his mouth, she continued,"So no, I can't be found by unknown owls or located with most tracking spells." She couldn't help adding, "You know all this Harry. Will you explain? You're starting to scare me."

Her friend only shook his head and forced a smile. "I can't worry about my honorary sister?"

Hermione stared at him. "Is it … do you feel … you know?" She gestured at her forehead.

Harry shook his head. "No. Not exactly. And you said yourself, that would be impossible, right?"

Hermione nodded. "With the, um," she looked around, "item gone, then it should be, yes. But you can't tell me something's not wrong, Harry."

"It's … it's … " Harry shook his head as if to clear it. "It's nothing, Hermione. Nothing at all."

And for the rest of the meal, he resolutely refused to answer any more questions.

##

A/N: Thanks to those of you that reviewed and/or followed and favorited this story. I read every single review and appreciate them all. :) So far I only have a loose idea of where I am going with this. Yes, it will be a HG/SS romance, eventually.

About my Latin-ish: Yes, I made up a couple of spells, and no, obviously I don't know Latin. I used Google Translate to learn how to magically shivel someone's private parts. On a completely unrelated topic, reviews are nice. ;) Pretty please ...


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